The moon lights up the night sky considerably, and its' rays scatter across the glassy surface of the small river Willow squats beside. She hovers over the water and pulls a bottle of Rad-X from her coat pocket which she had scored from the Corvega Assembly Plant, then pops a pill into her mouth. Once, she heard someone say that you should wait a few minutes after taking Rad-X for it to kick in, and Willow doesn't know enough about medicine to know whether that's true or not but it sounds plausible enough that she takes it as fact; and so while she waits, she stares down at her own reflection in the water.

Flecks of dried blood remain on her face from the recent fight, and Willow isn't exactly sure how much of it is her own. She knows a lot of it is Randall's, though, and she feels an increasingly desperate need to cleanse him from her skin. She picks at a blemish on her face with her fingernail, then runs her finger along her cheek. The skin on her face is stretched tightly over her cheekbones, and her sanpaku eyes and straight eyebrows give her an unapproachable resting expression. She tucks a strand of her black hair behind her ear and lowers her hand.

Willow is not an extraordinarily beautiful girl, or really even a pretty one. She is unkempt, scrappy, and gauche. And for that, she has come to be grateful.

Her hands dip into the cold water and she works on washing her face. The water isn't clean, but whatever is in the water is likely far preferable to Randall's blood and so she works diligently on scrubbing every last piece of him off of her. When she has finished grooming herself, she pulls her shirt up and wipes her face dry, and then inspects herself in the reflection on the water again to make sure she has done an adequate job. Except now when she looks into the water, she sees full cheeks, skin unmarred by blemishes. She sees a sweet little button nose, shiny red hair, and youthful green eyes.

She sees Maggie staring back at her.

She startles and falls backward, scampering away from the water as she catches her breath. Then, she hears a mischievous cackle and looks up to find Maggie standing in the water, grin on her face. "Gotcha!" she laughs, and Willow scowls at her. She rolls her eyes before she stands and brushes herself off, and then she turns, making her way back through the twisted alleyway between two crumbling buildings which leads her back toward their campsite. She is careful, stepping over the mines she and MacCready had placed to ensure no one could sneak up on them during the night.

The two had lit a small fire in a pit left behind by presumably some other drifters, and when Willow returns to it, she finds MacCready curled up on the ground on his side, rifle beside him, hat crooked on his head as he sleeps. She moves to sit quietly across the fire pit from him, and she digs her notebook out from her bag.

She leafs through it until she gets to her list, where she crosses off Randall's name and then stares at the rest of the entries.

There are eight names total yet only three remain, two of which she needs MacCready's help with. She still feels nervous about Quincy – she's not quite ready to go back yet, and so for now, Neil Stout is safe. This leaves her with a man she's only ever known by one name: Pigeon.

Pigeon is not an intimidating name, which is quite ironic as the man behind it is a rather frightening individual. He is big, strong, and deeply twisted in the most horrific of ways. He is also a chem dealer, and he surrounds himself with armed guards for extra protection. Going against him alone would be suicide, but with MacCready by her side...

Her eyes drift from the page of her journal to the mercenary as he sleeps, and her shoulders relax. He looks rather peaceful, and she finds the steady rise and fall of his chest comforting. He's a good looking man – Willow can admit that. She is fond of his angular face, his sharp features. And he has a charm to him which makes him easy to talk to, to be around. His confidence, while grating at times, makes Willow feel safe in his presence. Plus, he looks damn good with that sniper rifle...

The woman catches herself smiling, and immediately her face drops and she looks back down to her journal, a blush forming on her cheeks. She feels something nudge her arm and turns her head to see Maggie at her side.

"I thought you said you didn't like him." she teases, and Willow rolls her eyes and casts her gaze toward the fire instead. She doesn't like him, she tells herself. Rather, she tolerates him because he is helping her do a job which is important to her. And she was only staring at him in order to devise the best way to separate him from his binoculars upon their parting of ways when all was said and done. Maggie giggles and rests her head against Willow's shoulder and looks languidly at the list in her lap.

"Pigeon next?" she asks, and Willow nods silently in response. Maggie is quiet, but she squirms lightly against Willow, and Willow can feel her own skin crawling. "Good." the child says finally, and relaxes once more against her companion's arm.

Willow glances back to the list, her eyes far away as she watches the light from the flames dance across the pages. Her gaze shifts to Maggie, and the girl lifts her head to meet her eyes, then smiles softly.

"You're more than halfway there." she says, her voice gentle. "I'm really proud of you, Willow."

Willow swallows, her expression softening. Carefully, she closes her journal, and then brushes some of Maggie's hair back behind her ear. "Soon." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "You can rest soon."

MacCready stirs on the other side of the fire, his eyes opening up to small slits as he groggily looks to Willow. "Huh?" he mumbles, "Did you say something?"

Willow shakes her head, raising an eyebrow for dramatic effect. "Nope." she lies. "Go back to sleep."

It's all the convincing he needs, and he falls back asleep seconds later. And then, much to her dismay, Willow catches herself smiling fondly once more.